Meat

The noise of the alarm clock reverberated around the tiny bedroom, bouncing hostile sound waves off the bare, magnolia walls. Trevor Broadbent awoke from another unsettling dream. He sat up in one efficient, swooping movement and switched off the alarm letting his fingers linger for a moment on his trusty time keeper. He shook his head, as if to clear out some of the lingering images.

"Never take your work home with you," he muttered.

Trevor was usually a deep sleeper but he had never been late for work; not once. Yes, another day at the supermarket, bright and early with things to do, work to be done. There was something about today, however, that didn't feel quite right. Perhaps another storm was coming? Trevor glanced at the window. The flimsy green curtain was struggling to contain the bright light behind it. His feet found his slippers in their usual precise location and marched into the bathroom to shave with his head aloft. He efficiently disposed of the dark shadow of stubble which had crept onto his face and combed his dark hair into a neat side parting, placing the tools of his grooming neatly back in their resting places.

Trevor’s apartment was small and uncluttered with a rather outdated collection of seventies furniture. He got dressed and treated himself to breakfast in the kitchenette (his usual – black coffee with one sugar and two pieces of wholemeal toast lightly buttered, right to the edges with three slices of bacon). Trevor then straightened his tie and headed down the stairs and out to his car. It was a sunny day and there were several neighbours outside in the street.

“Hi, Mr Broadbent!” called Mrs Tillman raising her sunhat adorned head from her plants for a moment.

Stupid woman, she doesn't know there's a storm coming, he thought.

Trevor waved his arm stiffly and got into his car. He drove the short distance to the supermarket in 3 minutes and 43 seconds – his personal best. He smiled to himself as he passed through the brightly lit doors of the store.

“There he is! Hey Trev!”

Trevor rolled his eyes and continued walking. “You know my name Douglas, I suggest you use it.”

“Yeah, well, I prefer when people call me Doug but hey.”

Doug skipped in front of Trevor and turned to face him, trotting backwards whilst he spoke.

“As I was saying, Trev, you know what Melissa and I just heard?”

Trevor carried on walking past Doug with a frown. “No, and I don’t particularly care.”

“You will, Trev, you will. Listen, we overheard Bob talking on the phone. The area manager is coming in for a spot check today.”

Trevor stopped in his tracks allowing Doug to catch up. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. And they have no idea that we know. We can totally wipe the floor with the other departments this time. We’ll be the meat kings!”

Trevor licked the corner of his mouth fervently. Last time they had done the area spot check the pharmacy department had come out on top and Nasser had been smirking at him ever since. His sly comments made Trevor’s teeth clench and he once squeezed a pack of sausages so hard they shot out the end of the plastic like little porky fingers. An unnecessary mess, indeed.

No. This time he would be ready. Everything would be pristine. He nodded slowly at first but then more excitedly as he relished the thought of the opportunity. He looked up at his young colleague.

“Thank you, Douglas. This is excellent. Good work.”

“Yeah, baby. High five!”

Trevor glared at him. “Don’t you have something important to do? Start with the labels. Everything has to be perfect!”

Doug rolled his eyes. “Yes, Master Trev” he said mocking him with a salute and strutting off towards the fridge section of the store.

Trevor dropped his belongings off into the staff room and walked briskly back out onto the shop floor. He inhaled deeply, prepping himself for what was about to come. This time he would be ready. He’d not be overlooked for promotion again. They were going to notice his work, this time.

As he headed to the pork section to check on the presentation of the aisle he heard a muffled murmur coming from the direction of the fridge. It was a very low sound, its origin quite indefinite. Trevor stopped for a moment, cocking his head to the side and straining his ears to hear. Nothing but the hum of the fridge. He paused, certain that he would hear it again but the sound was gone.

“Are you slacking?”

Trevor jumped at the sound of another voice behind him. “Uh, no Bob. I was thinking.”

“Oh, don’t do that Trevor! You might cause yourself a mischief!” Bob said, still laughing.

Trevor was distracted for a moment by the sight of his manager’s portly middle juddering up and down as he laughed at him. He thought of this greasy, fat little man, stuffing his face, laughing to reveal a mouth full of half chewed burger. The thought of it disgusted Trevor. He gritted his teeth once again and persuaded his mouth into a smile at the corners. He forced a disingenuous chuckle.

Bob stopped laughing immediately. “No time for fooling around Trevor. I want you to help on the tills today.”

Trevor’s mouth fell open. “But, Bob. I haven’t worked the cash register for such a long time.”

“We all have to do it occasionally,” said Bob, slapping Trevor between his shoulder blades. “Anyway, it’s good to get back down to the grass roots every now and again.” Bob grinned at him now, showcasing those slightly oversized teeth of his. “Go and relieve Marjorie, she’s due her break.”

Trevor stood, staring past Bob, stunned into silence. The fat bastard knew he had work to do before the inspection. None of the section managers ever had to work the tills. The idea was preposterous!

“Go on then, man!” Bob motioned with his hand, flapping it around like he was trying to put out a match. “Poor Marjorie’s probably desperate for a ciggie.”

Trevor looked at Bob briefly, and instantaneously imagined his fat, heavy, naked body propped up on top of an eager Marjorie in bed, surrounded by ashtrays full of spent cigarette butts.

Horrified, Trevor blinked hard, eager to erase the image from his mind but it felt like it had been burned into the backs of his eyelids.

He he he.

A low hum of laughter echoed in the back of his brain. He rushed off to the till feeling queasy, leaving a bemused looking Bob at the fridge shaking his head.

Trevor approached Marjorie’s till and waited for her to finish ringing through her current customer. She nodded to him and thanked him in a deep, smoker’s voice and squeezed her square behind out of the cashier’s booth. Trevor forced a smile and sat down on the seat. It was still warm. He shifted on his hips and started to scan items for the next customer – a mother with two whining kids. He looked over her shoulder trying to spot Douglas.

Douglas waved from afar, mouthing. Trevor couldn’t make out what he was saying but it appeared to be a question. He scanned a jar of peanut butter and made a face directed at Douglas who waved frantically in reply. Glancing over to make sure Bob wasn’t looking, Trevor waved Douglas over to the till and breathed with relief when his colleague decided to approach.

“You wanted a price check, Trev?” he said, grinning proudly as if he’d thought of the cleverest ruse.

“Yes, Douglas. Thank you.”

Douglas leaned in whispering. “This is clearly sabotage. You know that, right?”

“Yes, yes Douglas, I don't care what it is,” Trevor said gritting his teeth like a ventriloquist. “Just do something about it!”

“I’ll see what I can do. Be right back with the price.” Marching off with purpose, Douglas left, taking a jar of jam with him. Exasperated, Trevor sat staring at Douglas, wondering what on earth his next move would be. His concentration was interrupted by a low, rumbling voice.

You dirty bastard.

Trevor looked around for the source. The woman in front of him stood impatiently waiting for her jam.

I know what’s in your filthy little ’ead, Trevah.

Again, Trevor looked around but he could not locate the source. He felt uneasy – on edge. Today was, getting to him.

Douglas finally came bouncing back over to the cash register, jam in hand.

“Here you go, Madam. I’ll take over after this, Trev. Anne needs you over at the fish counter.”

Trevor’s shoulders relaxed. He quickly scanned the jam and two packets of bacon to finish the woman’s purchase. When he got back to his section, he was appalled to find that there was still a lot to do. Labels were not straight, some stock was uneven and he found some ham in the turkey section. He got to work straight away.

As he was working, the hum of the fridge seemed, once again, to intensify. He rubbed his temples and carried on. But the hum, to his surprise, continued. It sounded like a low vibration but it was uneven now, almost rising and falling in waves. Trevor stopped and strained to listen. It was not a hum that he could hear. It was more like a multitude of voices, shouting in the distance.

Trevor tried to follow the sound. He put his ear to the fridge moving his head lower and lower until he was crawling along the floor. No matter how hard he strained to hear it, he could not locate the exact position of this infernal noise. As soon as he thought he was heading in the right direction, the sound would seem to move and he would have to start all over again, listening intently for any increase in volume. He crawled along the ground, ear to the floor, and then paused to lift his head. In front of his eye line he could see a row of mince, and next to it, some steak. He eyeballed the nearest packet of meat.

Hehehe.

Trevor reached out and grabbed the nearest packet.

You FOUND me, Trevah!

Trevor stared at the steak in his now quivering hands. He dropped it onto the floor and let out a pathetic shriek. At once, he heard a symphony of low humming, growling and laughter. Covering his ears, Trevor stood rooted to the spot, eyes darting from left to right at the meat fridge in front of him.

“Stop! Stop it! Shut up! SHUT UP!”

“And as you know, this is…”

The cacophony died down and Trevor heard the voice behind him. He turned to see the area manager, Dawn Lidman, now staring, side by side with Bob, carrying out her spot check of the store.

Trevor’s mind instantly created an image of Dawn, in lingerie and thigh high leather boots with a hungry expression on her face. She was rubbing butter into the skin of Bob's pale, naked rump and he looked to be enjoying it. Those oversized teeth were all on show now amidst his wide, exaggerated grin.

Hehehe.

He closed his eyes tight, breathed deeply and tried to erase the image from his mind.

Hehehe.

“Are you alright?”

Dawn Lidman was speaking to Trevor and all he could see in his mind’s eye was this disgusting, repulsive vision. He opened his eyes. The image was gone. He let out a sigh of relief.

“Are you feeling alright?” she asked again.

“Y.. Yes. I’m just fine,” Trevor replied.

No, you aint. Hehehe. You want to see her meat.

Trevor thrust his body forward and threw up the contents of his stomach onto the shop floor. Coffee-coloured jam toast particles peppered the floor in front of him. It looked for a moment like it was covered in writhing, brown maggots. He stared at it momentarily, eyes watering, snot dripping from his nose.

“Jesus Trevor, what the hell is wrong with you?” Bob said, finally after some awkward moments. Dawn Lidman just stood silently beside him, unable to retract her stare from the mess on the floor. “Go on. Go home before we all get sick," Bob continued. "I'll get someone to clean that up."

Trevor drove home bewildered, not even thinking about the journey. The sunny morning had given way to an afternoon of uncertainty in the sky. Grey clouds dominated the horizon and the air felt heavy and close. Trevor let himself into his flat and sat down on the brown sofa, gathering his thoughts. Why did he have to be ill today of all days? He would have to wait even longer for his promotion. He opened his mouth to burp, screwing up his face at the acidic taste now offending his tongue.

What on earth was wrong with him? Perhaps he had a fever. That would explain the hallucinations. He decided to take himself to bed to rest.

Trevor lay in bed, at first staring at the ceiling and then struggling to find a comfortable position. He was hot. The sweat was running down the side of his head, saturating the pillow, but he didn’t have the energy to change it for a dry one. Instead he tossed and turned. He could hear the intermittent buzz of a lone fly. The fly seemed intent on buzzing around his headboard, stopping every now and again to tease him with a moment’s peace. He pulled the covers over his head for a second but couldn’t bear the heat. The fly continued to flit from spot to spot for what seemed like an age, and Trevor eventually sank into sleep.

In his mind’s eye, the confusion of a dream began. First, he was the fly, impatiently moving from place to place, stopping every now and again to take in his surroundings. He buzzed through the supermarket, past Douglas and Melissa gossiping in the corner, out through the stock room and then into what appeared to be a large dining room. He flew past a group of luncheoning ladies and saw Bob, lying on a platter with an apple in his mouth, ready to be devoured. He rested for a moment in the hair of an elderly woman named Maud as she waited for her slice of thigh.

He flew off again and headed through a kitchen and into a freezer room, passing by a row of hanging carcasses. As he prepared to land on one he was hit by a fly swat and found himself hanging by a hook embedded in his back.

“Would you like to be stunned first, sir?”

Trevor raised his head as best he could towards the direction of the voice.

“What?”

He could feel the cold hook stretching the skin on his back, opposing the weight of his body but he was powerless to alleviate the pain.

“I said, would you like to be stunned first? I hear it’s much better that way.”

The voice was coming from a man dressed in a waiter’s outfit holding a large stun gun. Trevor looked ahead of him and watched as a man wearing a plastic apron proceeded to stun a woman resembling Mrs Tillman from next door. He struggled to free himself from the hook, horrified at what he was about to watch. The man in the apron was holding a very sharp knife and he was humming loudly. He stepped towards Mrs Tillman’s throat…

Trevor gasped for breath, his eyes open. His heart was beating fast in his chest and his head was throbbing. It was just a dream, he thought.

But, he could still hear the humming.

He sat up in bed and wiped the sweat from his brow. Confused, he glanced across at the clock. It was 9:34pm. The loud hum was coming from the hallway. He staggered through the bedroom, still feeling weak and unsteady. When he opened the door he realised it was coming from his kitchen.

“What the… ?”

Trevor turned on the light, squinting at the brightness for a moment. He walked over to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. “It’s the bloody fridge!” he thought, sighing. He gave it a couple of whacks on the side and the hum stopped.

Relieved, Trevor headed to the bathroom to look for some headache tablets.

He stopped for a moment to look at his reflection in the mirror. He didn’t look well at all. His eyes looked sunken and droopy with dark shadows creeping down towards his pale cheeks. He looked exhausted – about as bad as he felt. He shuffled back towards the bedroom, eased himself back into bed, pulled up the covers and closed his eyes.

Hummmmmmmm.

Impatiently, Trevor sat bolt upright in bed, his head immediately punishing him for his swiftness. He groaned, cradling his temple in one palm as he shuffled back towards the kitchen. He whacked the fridge again but the humming didn’t stop. Frustrated and fed up, he reached around to the back, unplugged the fridge and headed back to bed. He rested his head on the pillow and breathed deeply.

Hummmmmmmmm.

Confused, Trevor sat up once again. “What the fuck?”

Hehehe, that’s more like it Trevah.

Trevor froze, the hair on the back of his neck lifting up. He pinched himself on the arm.

Hehehe. You’re not dreaming, Trevah.

The words sounded like they were coming from the kitchen. Trevor didn’t want to go back there again. He lay back down in bed pulling the covers up above his head.

You think this is all in your ’ead, don’t ya, Trevah. Well, it aint. Hehehe.

“Go away! Shut up!” Trevor pulled the pillow over his head to block out the sound.

You’ll end up just the same, Trevah.

“What do you want?!”

It’s not what I want, Trevah. It’s what you want… You’re just the same as the rest. Hehehe. All just waiting to go back to the herd.

The hum sounded more like a growl now. Trevor stood up in bed and grabbed his bedside lamp, dragging the wire from the wall. He was going to take control of the situation. He staggered towards the door and headed into the kitchen. The growling got louder as he approached.

Hehehe. You can’t escape Trevah, there aint nothing you can do now.

The voice and the growling seemed to be coming from the fridge. Trevor crept ever closer, placing the lamp on the kitchen worktop and reaching instead for a knife. He turned on the light, poised with his knife held high. With a yell, he threw open the fridge door.

Nothing.

Hehehe. Found me…

Trevor looked closer. The fridge was almost empty - he’d been meaning to do some shopping today before he came home – aside for a couple of packets.

“Meat,” he said aloud. “It’s more fucking meat!”

Trevor grabbed the packet of ham and threw it on to the floor. He stomped repeatedly on it, crying out as he did so. The growl, dissipated for a moment then returned. He reached for an open packet of sausages and began stabbing them repeatedly in a frenzy, shouting “fuck you!” and then sliding down the wall into a heap on the floor where he started to cry.

He was blessed with silence.

He picked up the obliterated packets of meat and threw them out of his apartment window onto the street below.

Relieved, Trevor closed the window and headed back inside. He was completely exhausted and his headache was turning into a migraine. He wanted to crawl back to bed and stay there for a week. Head hanging and weary, he headed back towards his bedroom.

Hehehe. You’re almost there, Trevah.

Trevor screamed, grabbing his hair with both hands. When was this going to end?!

You want it to end, Trevah, it’ll be so easy.

Trevor looked down at his arms. The voice was coming from inside his arms, under his skin. It sounded like it was coming from his own flesh.

You’re just a piece of meat, Trevah. Hehehe.

The growling was deafening. The pain in his head, excruciating. Trevor rushed towards the kitchen once again. He picked up the knife and began cutting into his left arm, a mad grimace of determination on his face. He watched as the first beads of blood appeared on his skin, and then as it pooled slowly around the blade. The pain hardly registered and he carried on cutting, desperate to get it out of him, slashing the skin to shreds, searching for all the flesh beneath.

That’s it, Trevah. That’s my boy. Hehehe.

Trevor screamed again, in disbelief. It wasn’t working! Why wasn’t it working?! And then he paused, dropping the knife. He grinned from ear to ear. He knew what to do. Aha! He knew exactly what to do. And then Trevor reached for the blender.

###

“You might want to save your lunch for after this one, Detective.”

“What? Oh, I just ate a burger. I’m used to this kind of shit anyway. Years on this job numbs the senses a bit.”

“Yea, well, I did warn you.”

“Jesus. You’re not kidding.”

“One of the neighbours called. Said she heard some shouting. Asked somebody to come over to check it out. This was what they found.”

“God. That is one fine mess. Where's the rest of him?”

“I’m guessing on the walls and in this blender, here. What a way to commit suicide.”

“Hey, does he look like he’s smiling to you?”

“He must have been one sick puppy. Glad it’s not contagious.”

“Yea, me too. Poor bastard.”

“Right. Let’s get this over with. I can’t hear myself think with the hum coming from that fridge. It's starting to give me a hell of a headache.”